Flickering
by AnitaHoward
Summary: Christmas Fic, post-Journey's End. He met her on Christmas ... but he never got to spend it with her. A Doctor/Donna ONLY fic. One shot.


**_A/N: There is a brief change of tense in the middle of the story. This is intentional, because it's the Doctor's thoughts about the past, therefore in the past tense._**

_**Flickering**_

He can't get Donna off his mind, and neither can the Tardis apparently. She keeps making the corridors lead back to Donna's room, even though he begs her to just let him alone. Finally, on the day before Christmas (going by the Gallifreyan calendar), he gives in.

The door opens with a slight creak to reveal a small, cozy room. A dress is draped over the back of a chair, there's a hairbrush on the bedside table, and a pair of slippers knocked slightly under the bed. It all looks like she's just about to walk in. With a sigh he steps inside and closes the door. He's never been in here before. There is a fireplace, which the Tardis must have just lit. She's never given _him_ a fireplace before. Of course, he never wanted one; the temperature is always just right for him. But right now a fire looks inviting. He sits down in a cushioned chair that faces the hearth and watches the flames flicker. The warmth on his face sets his heart aching, and he stares into it. It reminds him of Donna, warm and red and bright. Fiery. Usually the simile would make him roll his eyes, but it's true. Donna was like a fire, and like a fire she had been brilliant right to the end. Like a fire she had burned out, and was gone.

No one has ever understood him like Donna; maybe no one ever will. He had loved Rose, but she was a girl with no life experience; she would have loved any man who came along and gave her an exciting time. Martha was too ready to take everything to bits and analyze it, and she had wanted love from him that he couldn't give. Donna, now. Donna had asked very little, and given him everything. Oh, Donna! Beautiful, brilliant Donna. He'd tried so hard to tell her that she didn't have to be a genius, that understanding people had a lot more value than understanding electronics. She had started to believe him, right before the end, and he hoped that she still believed it even if she didn't know why.

In the midst of his thoughts, he notices the corner of an envelope on the mantelpiece. He takes it down, and sees _Merry Christmas, Doctor_ written with a glittery pen.

Is it possible? Could Donna have made a Christmas card for him so far in advance? Then he remembers that for earth, it was less than a month before the holiday when the Daleks came. He sits back in the chair and holds the envelope; he wants to take this slowly: his first and only Christmas card from Donna. Then he opens it and out falls a card. On the front is a photo of both of them in front of the Tardis on the Ood's planet, snow all around. Donna has printed 'Happy Holidays' in gold ink at the top. Inside, there is a poem. He reads it through once, then a second time, and a third. A smile tugs at his mouth, and tears to his eyes. By the bed he sees a small wrapped gift. Somehow Donna has gotten paper that has a Christmas-sy Tardis printed all over it. He unwraps it to find a pair of red running shoes, with a note attached.

_Doctor,_

_Yours were getting worn out. I made sure these weren't going to make you dance … if you didn't want to. But I thought maybe tonight we could do a bit of Christmas dancing. I hope these are the right size for you; I never could find a pair of your shoes to measure._

_Love,  
Donna_

Taking off his shoes, which he has to admit are just a bit worn, he slips on the new pair. They fit.

"Thanks, Donna. I love them," he murmurs, almost surprised that she doesn't answer back. He sits back down and re-reads his card.

_Doctor, you know that I hated Christmas_

_When you and I met the first time._

_It was all the same and it seemed pretty lame_

_When you and I met the first time._

_I had thought that maybe it would be special_

_If I could get married that day,_

_But of course we fought a spider, and Lance was a liar._

_I didn't get married that day._

_I couldn't help blaming you at first,_

_I thought you had ruined my day;_

_Christmas would never be the same, and you were to blame,_

_Or so I thought at the time._

_Then I realized when I left you_

_That somehow Christmas meant something again._

_Not the gifts under the tree, not me, me, me,_

_But friendship and time with the ones we love._

_And even thought I didn't get married that day,_

_I met someone far better than old Lance:_

_I met you! And now Christmas _is

_The most wonderful time of the year!_

_Merry Christmas, Doctor!_

_P.S._

_We'll share those brownies by the fire in my room, and drink hot chocolate. I'm sorry if the poem isn't very poetic; but I mean every line of it! Oh, and do you have any Christmas CDs? If not, I'll go buy one and we can listen to it tonight. By the way, I know you've already peeked at the brownies, and I'm sure you found your present long before now. But that's all right because it's Christmas._

He knows that she hasn't made any brownies; she must have been going to the day before Christmas and never got the chance; but he goes to the kitchen anyways and looks around. No. Everything is in perfect order. A carton of milk, a few eggs, some energy bars. But it's fine with him; he could never have eaten the brownies without her. It would be like dancing without a partner.  
Dancing. She had wanted to do that, too, and now they never will.

He puts Christmas music on and sits down by the fire again, staring into the flickering flames. Christmas will never be the same for him, either. But he doesn't know if he can bear to celebrate it without her ever again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Donna wakes up on Christmas to find a card with her name on it that has been slipped under the door.

_Dear Donna,  
Merry Christmas!  
Thinking of you always._

No name, no address, just a picture of a fireplace decorated for Christmas. On the back of the card is a recipe for brownies. She shakes her head; this is just another one of those strange things she can't explain. She's given up asking her mum or gramps about it, and Shawn is pretty good at pretending he doesn't know a thing about what's going on. But she'll get to the bottom of it someday. She knows she will. She tucks the card into the box where she keeps a key, a commonplace key that goes to no lock that she knows of, that opens nothing, but that she can't get rid of. She found it in her pocket the day she woke up with a year of her memories missing. Now the card can sit with it, two pieces to a puzzle that she can't put together.

Outside, it has begun to snow lightly. _Simple atmospheric excitation. _The words pop into her head_._ By now, these strange little snippets, like a conversation remembered from a dream, are almost commonplace. She gets dressed, and wonders how she ever started liking Christmas again, after so many years of hating it.

**_The End_**

_A/N: _

_Donna's note about the shoes refers to my story 'Red Shoes'._

_In my head-canon, 'Journey's End' takes place sometime near the end of November, and sometime right before that, Donna had a sort of foreboding that made her get the Doctor's card and gift together early. _

_Also, doing dishes by oneself is a wonderful way to get ideas for a story. I wrote practically all of this in my head last night while washing up after supper. Usually I have someone in there helping me, and we talk a lot, so there's not a lot of chances for a story to show up. Moral of the story? Do dishes by yourself once in a while. You might be surprised! It's not the first time I've gotten a good story idea that way :)_

_So, hoped you all liked this. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. All constructive criticism is welcome. Merry Christmas to everyone!  
AND if you like Sally Sparrow and Lawrence Nightingale, I'll be posting 'A Sparrow and Nightingale Christmas' very soon, so stay tuned!_


End file.
